Tuesday, July 26, 2016

Stone Soup Croutons, 7-25-16, Shut-In Shuts Up

Stone Soup Croutons is a weekly poem I write using lines and impressions picked up from poems overheard from Stone Soup's open mic readers and features. I figure out a title (and sometimes the rest of the poem) later. To paraphrase Lorne Michaels, the poem doesn't go up because it's good; it goes up because it's Tuesday morning. Also, it looks like I'm moving closer to my fiftieth poem in this series. Sweet!

Widner Florestal featured last night. A great feature with a short but sweet open mic A poem follows below.

Shut-In Shuts Up

There was more poetry in her non-words,
a secret poets keep to themselves
lest they lose the sex.

Now it's your chance for the sexy satin
instead of a widow's veil for your personal life.

God only sends so many boats
to unmarooned you,
and she was your helicopter.

It took all your caffeinated verse
and French songs you don't understand
to woo her.

How great is the distance
between you and your creator?

Enough that you forget
the difference in time zones
and are afraid of waking him
to call and ask for favors.

Or maybe the creator's a genderless
sexless, charmless mass,
who chose to make you in their image.

Forget that. Focus on
phenomenal man (supposed to be you).
Promise yourself you'll write
that sonnet on police violence
or blog about Hilary and Trump.

Time for the one good fuck
before she becomes livid
with the first words
from your morning mouth.

Poets, like anyone, have a dream
of getting what they want
without having to work for scraps.

Special thanks to Bert Jeremie, JLA, Deborah Priestly, Que Unlimited, Surat Lozowick, Chirs Fitzgerald, Jason Wright, Andrew G., Martha Boss, Jonathan J. Joseph, Widner Florestal and James Van Looy. 

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